


Stained Glass Window

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Churches & Cathedrals, Comforting Castiel, Crying Dean, Grieving Dean, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hospital Church, Hospitals, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Nurse Castiel, praying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Okay, um…” He tapers off, not quite sure where to start. Should he be standing? Is that disrespectful? And where does he even start? Is this a journal entry or a formal occasion? “Hi. My name is Dean Winchester. But I’m assuming you know that, considering the whole children of God thing, so I’ll just skip the intro and get straight to the climax.”





	Stained Glass Window

**Author's Note:**

> Because Dean never really received closure praying or actually talking to God face-to-face, and he deserves to feel the way Sam does believing in God, this fic was born. <3
> 
> And also because I fell in love with Kesha's new song, "Praying".

 “I hope you're somewhere praying, praying  
I hope your soul is changing, changing  
I hope you find your peace  
Falling on your knees, praying.”

“Praying”, Kesha

Stained Glass Window

Dean's usually not one to follow signs of any nature.

It's probably what got him into this mess in the first place.

The one above him, in just one corridor amongst the maze of white corridors, leads him to a quaint space, preserved by the sheer willpower of the Holy Trinity.

Dean's tried his version of the Holy Trinity: drinking, drugs, and sex.

He's been on his knees for all of them, too, though none have seemed to stick.

So he takes a seat in the pew second closest to the front, next to a stained glass window depicting a man in a thin white gown with open arms. The sun, which looks more like a bright yellow windmill, is to his back as the morning light shines through each individual chip.

Logically, he knows who the man standing in front of the sun is. But in his heart, he doesn't recognize the man, or his warmth. Not now, anyway.

“Okay, um…” He tapers off, not quite sure where to start. Should he be standing? Is that disrespectful? And where does he even start? Is this a journal entry or a formal occasion? “Hi. My name is Dean Winchester. But I’m assuming you know that, considering the whole children of God thing, so I’ll just skip the intro and get straight to the climax.”

Dean turns his head, thinking he hears the doors to the church open, but when he’s met with resounding silence, he turns back to the front of the church. He folds his calloused hands on the railing of the pew in front of him and clears his throat before continuing, “I don’t know what to do. Just when it seems like I’m out, I get sucked right back in. First with Sam, and now… come to think of it, that’s the last time I talked to you. I was in here twice. First when he was admitted, and then when he came out. So you know I’m not a beggar. I don’t…”

This time, he cuts himself off before he can finish, muttering, “Fuck it” under his breath as he picks himself up. But before he can get two steps away, a figure at the door stops him. He doesn’t start walking towards him until Dean acknowledges who it is: “Cas.”

He’s still donning his blue scrubs, and his hair’s as messy as ever. Cas was assigned the night shift to look after Sam when he was admitted. Dean stayed the night a lot of the time regardless, so they’ve come to know each other over 3am discussions about everything from hobbies to politics. But Dean can’t read his expression when he pulls himself from the door and starts walking towards him. (Well, aside from being tired. That he always is. Being tired has practically become a second job for him.)

Dean waits until Cas’s cloggers stop drumming against the hardwood floor to ask, “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing I already didn’t know,” Cas replies.

“So you know I’m…”

“A stubborn pain in the ass,” Cas laughs, and to an outsider looking in, it might sound insensitive, considering what Dean’s going through, but for Dean, it allows for a small smile and melts the icecaps on his shoulders. Then, he asks before he’s sitting too, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Without nodding, Dean starts to sit down again where he was previous, next to Cas.

For a moment, they’re still. The shrill of the gurneys being wheeled into the adjacent room can be heard from where they are. He’s been in this very hospital for months, hearing those exact same gurneys when he was watching over Sam’s comatose body. It’s not something he’s gotten used to, if the bumps along his arms are anything to go by.

Dean takes a breath before trying out a couple words, one at a time, like testing new shoes to see if they fit: “I’m scared.” That’s a good start. A little shaky on the projection, but not bad. “I, um… I tested positive for testicular cancer. I found out not too long ago.”

Cas is quiet for a moment. “Have you told Sam?”

Dean shakes his head. “He only knows I went in for a physical. They said it’s localized, so my likelihood of not surviving the operation is 1%. I know I have to go through with it. Sam’s the only family I have left, but he’s family nonetheless. I just…” He runs his hands through his hair, still not looking away from the floor. “Having the operation… I don’t know. I’m not afraid of going under the needle, I’m…”

“You’re afraid it’ll make you less of a man, having one testicle,” Cas finishes, nodding. When Dean doesn’t say anything, he continues, “It’s a perfectly common fear. And perfectly irrational.”

Again, Cas is a pretty blunt person. On the clock, he speaks with sensitivity and caution, but to those he knows, those who are, as Cas said, as stubborn as Dean is, he knows it’s the only way to get through. “Cas, I appreciate it,” he says, verbalizing his thoughts as he looks up, “but taking care of Sam has been my whole life. After our father passed… believe me, there were times when I _didn’t_ wanna man up. I bottled everything up, and that’s probably where the cancer found its nest.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and now that Dean’s really looking at him, he notices the softness, but also the depth in his sapphire eyes, like stepping into the ocean knowing you can be swallowed in any second, and the wrinkles surrounding them. “I’m sorry about your diagnosis, I really am. But do you really think Sam will treat you like less of a man because you won’t have all the parts?”

“Well… I mean, yeah,” he says, and even he realizes how idiotic of an answer that is.

Cas shakes his head, a smile lifting his tanned cheeks, “Dean. I saw the way Sam looked at you when he woke up. He admires you. And I’m talking more admiration than any kid growing up has for a guy on a flimsy piece of cardboard. He may be hovering over you for a while because of your diagnosis, but is that really so bad? Don’t _you_ deserve to be taken care of too once in a while?”

Dean blinks, releasing a few tears he doesn’t know he has trapped beneath his emerald eyes.

“I know you, Dean,” he continues, “I may not know what you’re going through, but I know you put yourself through more than you need to.”

Dean nods, shaking more rebel tears from his eyes. He turns to the stained glass window again, and feels something within him he hadn’t earlier. He feels a little lighter, a little freer from doubt and guilt and grief.

He feels strength.

Strong enough to turn to Cas and ask—amid more tears, this time of relief, streaming down his face—, “Are you free this evening, by chance?”

He knows the rest will work itself out, because he takes Cas’s leaning in to kiss him as a sign of good faith.

 


End file.
